


All is Faire

by LaceKyoko1138



Series: Fictober 2020 but make it Sylvianne [3]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Drunkenness, F/M, Gen, Renaissance Faires, Renaissance Festival AU, fictober day 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:00:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27001612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaceKyoko1138/pseuds/LaceKyoko1138
Summary: Marianne takes on a part-time job at the Renaissance festival and isn't enjoying it, until she meets a very drunk but very cute patron.Fictober Day 3: Renaissance festival AU
Relationships: Marianne von Edmund/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Series: Fictober 2020 but make it Sylvianne [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1946101
Kudos: 10





	All is Faire

**Author's Note:**

> I am SO LATE but my iPad (which I wrote this on) HATES my internet and I haven't had time to sit down and post/write more works. Days 4 and 5 are finished and will be posted shortly. 
> 
> I took on a second job, but that's normal this time of year as I also work at the Renaissance festival. You'd think I'd write something like this sooner yet here I am. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy regardless!!!!

To say Marianne did not fit in among those that worked at the Renaissance festival was an understatement. Sweet, shy Marianne, who liked to stay in bed late and talk to the least amount of people possible on a good day, working at least 12 hour days in the outdoors, where the weather could be anything from incredibly bright and sunny (hello out-of-season sunburn) to strikingly stormy (hello in-season pneumonia), was completely out of character, but she was a broke-ass college student and friends with perky Hilda, whose idea this was. Hilda had worked a previous season selling garlands and loved it, and she made good money off it, and she was positive Marianne would have the same results. 

But sales, even at a renaissance festival, were highly competitive and required savvy, something Marianne did not quite have. 

Marianne wasn’t even properly interviewed. It was mid-season when she started, having been told two girls dropped out so the boss needed last minute replacements, and she was only roped in because Hilda put in a good word for her and desperate times called for desperate measures. Her boss hadn’t even met her. She walked into the Friday night meeting for a quick rundown that lasted all of ten minutes, told him her name so he could make out her check, and was told she was cute so she’d do really well. That was very unorthodox and probably a little inappropriate, but Hilda agreed and so did a few of her now-current coworkers, so she didn’t fight it. Not that she would have anyway. 

Which brought her to her first day. It was Saturday, Halloween weekend, to the very day actually, and she was put in what Hilda said was one of the busier areas. She was stationed with her pole of garlands just outside the jousting arena, ten minutes before cannon. She had counted her money twice. $250, which would last her the entire day ideally, so long as she counted out the correct change and no one paid too often with big bills. The prices were pretty simple: the less complicated (and frankly uglier) garlands were $10, and the prettier, bountiful ones were $15. They were cheaply made, synthetic, probably through underpaid if not slave labor, and probably cost $2 to have shipped. Marianne had gone to the faire a few times as a patron and always assumed the items sold at the various booths, shoppes, and carts were all handmade, and perhaps some were, but any place, such as the pole she had or the cart of fake wood/plastic swords and shields her partner had, were all factory made items intended to bring in massive profit due to exorbitant prices. It was a harsh lesson in capitalism. She wrung her hands across the hem of her blouse that she borrowed from Hilda, which was loose in her chest so she borrowed a bodice from Hilda as well to keep the shirt in place. It also had the (accidental) effect of making her incredibly shapely, tapering her waist, giving the illusion of a larger bust and round hips, and she wanted to shrink into her entire body. She wore two layers of lacy skirts with leggings and long socks with knee high boots (that had a zipper but it was easily hidden so hopefully no official of any sort would call her out on wearing modern clothes). The hardest part really was a headpiece because hats just weren’t a huge item to wear in the modern world anymore unless one really wanted to look trendy, and even then they were all very obviously current, so Hilda had splurged the weekend before and found a beautiful macrame “snood” (which looked like a type of loose beret) that cost $30 (and Marianne insisted on repaying Hilda who refused) for her friend to wear. It truly was beautiful and it held in Marianne’s long hair well so she didn’t really have to style it too intricately. 

*BOOM!* There, the cannon was fired and the gates were opened, letting in what would be the thousands of patrons attending the All Hallows’ Eve weekend at the 50th annual Leicester Renaissance Festival. Marianne gulped. She was not ready. 

The first hour was surprisingly calm. She had a few sales from eager girls and another few from a few (already) drunk boyfriends who claimed they wanted their girlfriends to be the most beautiful lady in all of the land in a very terrible Renaissance accent of dubious origin. Hilda said if they tipped to just accept the money and put the money in a separate pocket for herself. No one really thought to tip her, who would really since this was outdoor festival retail, so she didn’t expect anyone to, so she wasn’t surprised. 

The second hour meant the first joust would be held. They were held every hour, lasting about thirty minutes, and the crowd the first one brought in was monstrous. Naturally when it ended, the masses dispersed and Marianne found herself surrounded by people. Swarms of them hooted and hollered, there was some catcalling which unnerved her, and she had sale after sale which she barely kept up with. But when the rush ended she found some peace. The loud man hawking his pickles across the path pitied her and brought her a pickle, free of charge, and she accepted it, even though she wasn’t very fond of pickled food to begin with, but she munched on it politely as he made conversation. 

“So you’re clearly new,” he said bluntly. It wasn’t unkind but Marianne still felt bad. 

“I know. This is a very different world for me, but I’m in college and really need the extra income.” She really didn’t want to have this conversation with a stranger, but Renaissance folk were a very friendly sort who didn’t know strangers. It was a different kind of community. 

“Hope you’re at least being compensated well. What’s your commission rate?”

“Ummm, I think it was 9%? Is that good?”

“For your wares? Not surprising, but no, it’s not. Better sell a lot kid.” He patted her shoulder, but he was so large it felt like he shoved her. “I’m Raphael. They call me Big Oak out here.”

“O-oh,” Marianne stuttered. “I’m Marianne.” 

“Nice to meet ya! You hungry? I brought some jerky.” Out of a pouch he kept on his belt came a package of jerky. He grabbed a slab and bit, pulling the dried meat apart. 

Marianne was not hungry, due to severe anxiety, and she still had an unfinished pickle in her hand. She shook her head. “No, but thank you.”

“You bring water at least?” asked Raphael, eyeing her. She did not have any sort of drinking vessel on her. 

“I have a small bottle of water in my pouch but that’s it.”

“Oh man, you’re gonna need more than that. It might only be like around 10:30 but it’s gonna be scorching today.” He shrugged. “October is a finicky month out here. Could be cold, but it’s usually not. Hope you have sunscreen too. You’re sure pale.”

Marianne couldn’t help but grimace. “I didn’t.”

“Oof, you’re unprepared friend. Stay in a shady spot. Do you have someone that checks on you every hour or so? I think the garland girls usually do.”

“Uhh, yeah, I think we have zone managers?” Marianne didn’t quite understand the term, but it was explained as the Faire grounds were divided into four different zones that garland poles and sword carts were allocated and each zone had a manager that would check on their group. Water, food, and bathroom breaks were handled this way. There were also breakers who would give them breaks for thirty minutes a day. Faire jobs really were an entirely different world compared to her real life. 

“Hope yours checks on you soon. Maybe they can get you sunscreen and more water. You’ll need it.” 

Marianne nodded, already exhausted. Why on earth did she agree to this...

“Well, I’ll leave ya to it. If you need hydration, pickle juice is excellent for that.” Raphael walked away, back to his cart because people were clamoring for pickles. 

Marianne sighed. She’d rather die than drink pickle juice.

The next show at 11 for the joust brought in an even bigger crowd and the smell of fried foods and turkey legs and alcohol permeated the air. Marianne felt her stomach growl. She really should have eaten some jerky. 

Marianne sighed, turning back to her pole to straighten her garlands and make sure none had been snatched as she spent her time daydreaming. As she adjusted a flower on one, suddenly she was knocked over, shocking her, and her pole tumbled down with her. 

Someone had managed to catch her and the pole, straightening her out, swearing at their friend who ran into her. Marianne froze, terrified. 

The perpetrator must have turned around, and he grasped her shoulders too tightly, as if using her to keep balance. “Oh shit! Youuuu okayyyy?” said a honey smooth masculine voice that oozed drunkenness. 

Marianne could barely lift her gaze, but she did, locking her stormy ocean eyes with sunny amber and clenched her jaw. She didn’t want to cry or tremble. Goddess, Hilda really put her in the worst sort of position. What a way to make money. 

“Heyyy,” the guy slurred and Marianne smelled the sharp and sickly sweet scent of mead on his breath. “You’re prettier than the flowers you’re purveying. How rude of me to not notice one of your beauty.” 

Marianne felt her face heat. She was blushing madly and wanted to disappear. She hated being seen. The fear of being known was too much for her sometimes. “Uh, I, um...”

“No fear, fair maiden. I, Sir Sylvain mean you no harm!” He took her hand in his and kissed it. This was too much... Too... Much... 

Marianne felt her vision flicker. She couldn’t form words. 

The person that helped her that was with “Sir Sylvain” said, “hey she doesn’t look so good.” It was a blonde woman dressed in armor and chain mail. Marianne had seen so many chain mail bikinis but this woman looked like a true lady knight. 

She then noticed how the man who knocked her over was also dressed similarly, as well as a shorter man with midnight hair. The man still holding her hand had bright red hair the color of the sun at dusk and a light dusting of freckles across his cheeks. He was actually really handsome but Marianne was too intimidated to really think about it. 

“Milady, what is your name?” he asked. 

“Sylvain, shut the hell up. Leave her alone.” The shorter man gruffly said. “It’s clear she doesn’t like you.”

“Felix, that’s no way to speak in front of a lady,” Sylvain reprimanded with humor in his voice. He seemed too carefree but he was also drunk. 

Marianne still felt dizzy and could barely stutter out, “Marianne.” Sylvain smiled. 

“I’m Sylvain and it is a pleasure to meet you.” He kissed her cheek and Marianne couldn’t help but pull away. 

“Dude, we’re gonna miss the joust!” the blonde said. “Let’s go!” 

It seemed his two companions were not as drunk as he, if at all, as they pulled him away and he stumbled. He was much taller than them but they made it seem like it was nothing. 

“Aww, c’mon, Ingrid!” Sylvain whined but he let himself be pulled anyway.

Marianne felt cool relief flood over her body as she watched them retreat. Her cart partner, Ignatz, approached her. 

“Hey Marianne, are you okay?” he asked, concern etching across his brow. 

“Y-yeah, I am now.” she admitted. 

“Some of the patrons really do get a little too into it. Kinda makes me feel bad for not being as outlandish as them.”

Marianne just muttered, “yeah...” and then Raphael approached both of them. 

“I have more jerky. I think you need it,” he said as he handed her a slab. “I can find a water cooler and get you some water.” 

Marianne nodded, too overwhelmed to say anything else. Raphael left, locking up his cart, and Ignatz moved his cart closer so he could keep an eye on her. She chewed the jerky quietly, finding it hard to swallow. Her throat was so dry and she almost choked. 

When Raphael returned, he handed her his giant wooden mug of water. She took it hesitantly. 

“Look, we all drink after each other. Pretty normal for us Rennies.” 

Marianne didn’t know that term but didn’t ask. She drank the water, throwing her reservations to the side for now. Catching a cold later was better than fainting from dehydration now. 

The zone manager showed up finally, a lazy looking boy named Linhardt. “Sorry I’m late. I ended up taking a nap in one of the storage units. Need anything?”

Ignatz asked for the both of them if they could get more water and maybe a snack and Linhardt shrugged lazily but said he’d do his best. Not the best answer a manager could give but it was his job to ensure they got everything they needed. He did a few counts of their goods and called into his radio that “Joust needs five more of garlands 3 and 7, and ten more of shield 2 and sword 1.” He turned to the two. 

“Not bad for the first few hours but definitely hawk more. This area does well but it’s looking to be a slow day.”

A slow day? But there were so many people! It was endless!

Linhardt waved bye and moved on to his next area. Ignatz sighed and went back to his cart, moving it away so he wouldn’t crowd Marianne. She continued to eat and drink and stand in the shade. Raphael kept an eye on her but his pickle cart was much busier than her garland pole, but he also gathered more attention with his hawking, which consisted of wise cracks at pregnant ladies and yelling PICKLES for at least thirty seconds at a time. 

Marianne just wanted the day to be over. 

The joust ended with raucous applause and fanfare and then everyone found their way out, exiting the stands. It felt like she was beset by twice as many people as before, but she had to do well in sales. More sales meant higher commission and she needed every last cent. 

That redhead from before bumped into her again, still somehow drunk, this time harder than before. His dark haired friend, Felix, caught her this time. 

“Sylvain, you have got to watch where you’re going,” he warned. He didn’t apologize to Marianne, but Ingrid looked her over. Sylvain turned, smiling crookedly. 

“Oh, it’s the pretty lady from before! I’d remember you anywhere.” 

Ingrid rolled her eyes. “Sylvain, you use that line on every girl you meet.”

Sylvain ignored her, grasping Marianne’s hand again. He kissed it and his two friends pulled him away. 

“Sylvain, let her do her job,” Felix said, trying to push Sylvain forward. 

“Wait! Give me one minute!” Sylvain yelled out. He pulled out money from a leather pouch (wow these patrons really took the garb thing far) and looked over her wares. “Pick one out for me.”

Marianne blanched. “I’m sorry?”

“Pick one out for me! What goes good with my hair?” He spun around as if to prove some sort of point but all Marianne did was laugh nervously. 

“Umm...” She turned to her garlands, comparing the colors to his hair and armor. The tunic he wore under his chest plate and paldrons was teal and she had a row of garlands that had various shades and hues in that color family. She unclasped one from that section and handed it to him. The garland had flowers that looked like mums, heather, and ivy and it was really quite stunning, and it complemented his hair perfectly. 

Sylvain looked it over. “Nice color theory,” he complimented, turning it in his hands. “Place it on my head?” he requested, a pleading look in his eyes. His gaze was soft and warm and Marianne felt her heart flutter. 

He was...really cute...

“S-sure...” she agreed, taking the garland. Sylvain kneeled dramatically, acting as if he was being knighted and his two friends groaned. At least he was behaving himself.

Marianne placed it on his head, making sure it fit right and was secure. She let the ribbons trailing from it fall over his shoulders in stripes of sea green and sky blue. 

Sylvain stood up and Marianne pulled out a small hand mirror tied to her pole with a ribbon. She held it up so Sylvain could check himself out. He posed, smirking, raising his eyebrows as if wearing this garland was the most important thing he’d do all day. 

“Lovely, lovely. Milady has fine taste.” He handed her the wad of cash. “For you.”

“Oh, it’s only fifteen...” she started, counting the money so she could give appropriate change. He gave her *one hundred dollars.*

“Keep it,” he said with a wink. “A gorgeous girl like you should buy herself pretty things.” 

Marianne could not process his words. She fumbled, putting the money in her apron. She grabbed what would have been the change and put it in a separate pocket for her tips. Probably the only tip she’d receive all day. $85... Who on earth...

“Hey, I’ve got a question,” he said, interrupting her flurry of thoughts. “Do you camp out here?” 

She was in fact sharing a tent with Hilda for the weekend and it was stressful because the other people in her company, from the kettle corn cooks and hawkers to her fellow garland girls among many others, liked to party hard, so she didn’t fall asleep until one that morning. They had continued to party to the wee hours of the morning, although the kettle corn booth crew did leave to start cooking and setting up. That was the biggest operation her boss owned, pulling in the most profit and despite the partying they did work pretty hard. 

“I do...” Marianne answered. 

“Cool! We do too. We camp in patrons’. Maybe I’ll see you there?”

Employees of any vendor at the festival were forbidden from doing that. Apparently patrons’ camp was even wilder so it was to prevent any sort of liability and probably to also uphold the illusion the faire was supposed to give but people snuck out anyway. Marianne didn’t want to do that though.

“It’s against the rules. I’d get in trouble.”

Sylvain nodded. “Do you get off at a certain time?”

That was at dusk because by then it would be too dark to do much good and it also gave them time to count out before the others. 

“It’s...around dusk but I have to count out and that takes a while.”

“Okay. Faire closes officially at nine, no matter what they tell you, and dusk is what, seven? Meet me at the bar up front. I’ll buy you a drink.” Sylvain grasped her hand, squeezing it. “Please?” 

Employees got a discounted drink because her boss also happened to own that particular bar and count outs were in the upstairs of the building next door, the souvenir shoppe. 

Sylvain seemed so insistent and despite the rather abrupt meeting he did seem sincere...

“Sylvain, leave her alone,” Ingrid interrupted. “You can’t hit on an employee.”

He turned his head to her. “Hey, Ingrid! She can answer for herself.” He looked back to Marianne. “Marianne, right? You would honor me with your presence.”

So cringeworthy. So in character for this sort of festival. But Hilda would have encouraged her anyway so...

“Um, yes. I’ll meet you...” 

Sylvain cheered, pulling her into a hug. It was a bit too strong for her liking but his hands didn’t wander anywhere inappropriate so it was okay. 

“Thank you! I’ll see you tonight!” He kissed her cheek and his friends rolled their eyes and walked away. Sylvain jogged to catch up, turning his head to look at Marianne one last time to give her a wink. She gave a tiny, shy wave, but felt an exhilaration rush through her. 

Maybe working at the faire wasn’t too bad after all.


End file.
